


For Whom The (Liberty) Bell Tolled

by kellsbells, sistersin7



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Another Warehouse Adventure, F/F, fix-it-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:12:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellsbells/pseuds/kellsbells, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sistersin7/pseuds/sistersin7
Summary: In this Warehouse adventure, a ping sends our team to Philadelphia, where a villain du jour is up to no good, attempting to do something with the Liberty Bell.





	1. False Alarm?

**Author's Note:**

> Pete and Myka find Helena in Philadelphia, who managed to capture the missing shard of the Liberty Bell.  
> But which Helena will they find?

The day was going as well as it could do - after all, this was just another mission, and another day in the Warehouse's service. Pete was eating a bagel, Claudia was tinkering with something dangerous-looking, and Myka was bored.

She never, in all of her life, thought that she would bastardise Shakespeare so cheaply, but the thought that took hold in her mind was _"my kingdom for a ping"_. When it came, she wished she'd offered her kingdom for inventory, instead.

The ping first came in the shape of a very unhappy Artie, just about managing to run down the spiral staircase that lead to his office rather than careening down it.

"That woman!" he bellowed, after catching his breath and retrieving his glasses from the top of his head.

Myka looked at Artie from above the report she'd pretended to be reading for the past 3 hours, the mention of _"that woman"_ piquing her attention, as _"that woman"_ often meant a very specific woman, indeed.

It was as if Artie's look made an actual sound, because both Claudia and Pete froze mid tinker and bagel respectively and looked at Artie's expression, then Myka's, the Artie's again.

Myka actually gulped audibly, because she hated confrontation, especially with Artie - but some things were worth the risk. “What woman?” she asked quietly.

Artie's eyes widened and his nostrils flared as he huffed loudly and slammed the thin file in his hand on to his desk. "You know damn well what woman," he muttered.

Myka tried to stifle a smile. _"That woman"_ hadn't been heard from since the Boone incident, and Myka had been missing her so much it hurt. Why it hurt so much, she preferred not to examine too closely.

Claudia made a point of catching Myka's eyes, which, she thought were a little bit dreamier than usual, "So what's HG done this time to roll your socks the wrong way, Papa Bear?" she asked.

"She...." he said, taking a deep breath to steady himself and contain his rage, "has only gone and found the missing piece of the Liberty Bell! I've been looking for it since my first day on this job and she found it. In Wyoming!" His voice was shaking with outrage.

Pete chucked the last piece of his bagel into his mouth, and as he chewed on it his thoughts could not quite make sense of Artie's anger. "Isn't that a good thing?" he asked, failing to conclude this on his own.

"A good thing?!" Artie bellowed. "A good thing?! Do you have any idea what she could do with that piece of metal? Whosoever reunites the Liberty Bell shall rule the Land of the Free, Pete. The Land of the Free being this land! Do you think HG Wells is the right person to be handling that artefact? An artefact that gives her access to the nuclear codes? Helena 'Genocide' Wells?!!!" he shouted, spitting as he finished his little speech. His face was purple. Pete sniggered.

Claudia exchanged a sideways glance with Myka, whose eyes were wider than a doe's. "Personally, I’m more worried about Donald Trump, but erm..." she muttered, considering whether the wished to place her life on the line at this particular moment in time, "Last I checked HG was wearing a white hat," she took Pete's nod as validation and Myka's questioning look for her utter lack of pop culture referencing, "HG is on our side," she added.

"Exactly, " Myka said. "HG is a White Hart. Or whatever.  So why are we worried? Get her to come home and bring the artefact with her. No harm, no foul."

"Unlike you, simple folks, I'm not so easily convinced by heroic acts," Artie let slip in his state of anger, "especially not when an artefact wields such extreme powers - even the purest of hearts could be tempted."

"Come on, Artie. You vouched for her to the Regents, man. Be honest. Is this because she found it and you couldn't?" Pete asked, with surprising sensitivity.

"No," Artie hissed, failing to embrace Pete's gesture, "it's because some risks are simply too big to take," he shot at them and held up the thin file he threw on his desk a moment earlier. "What are you waiting for??!"

"I guess we're going after Lady Cuckoo again..." Pete sighed, and Myka glared at him. Why did they have to be so unpleasant about Helena? She had saved all of their lives, and died in the process. She wasn't going to go crazy and megalomaniacal just because of the chance to rule the world. Right?

## * * *

 

On the plane on the way to Philadelphia, Myka took the time to process everything that she was about face: a manhunt after one of the cleverest people in the world; an artefact that apparently had true corrupting power, both of which were in the area where the artefact was allegedly created (which could amplify its powers) that just happened to be one of the most crowded areas of the Eastern seaboard.

Oh, yeah. And Helena.

She shivered slightly as she remembered the way Helena had looked at her all those years ago, with the Trident in her hands. There had been a moment - just one moment - when Myka had seen a glint of something in Helena's eyes - something alien, something other. Whether that something was part of Helena or the influence of the artefact, she wasn't sure. But she'd been convinced, right then, in that moment, that Helena would strike the earth again. Some of that uncertainty was still there, when it came to Helena. Especially now she'd disappeared. 

But then she thought of Helena's eyes as she pushed the revolver into Helena's palm and held it up to her own forehead. That otherness was supplemented by something else entirely. It was fear, but a fear not fuelled by self-preservation. It was fear fuelled by care, by concern, by something Helena and her never actually discussed. Something that Myka hoped to explore when Helena resurfaced in Boone, but that's something brought an unpleasant, claustrophobic kind of feeling. So she exhaled harshly to release the pressure that built in her chest and got back to the scant details Artie provided them.

Philadelphia was chilly, and Myka pulled her coat collar up as they picked up their rental car, another giant SUV. She griped about it out loud, how bad it was for the environment, but secretly she loved the legroom. She was too tall for these eco-friendly cars. Bring out some bigger electric cars, she said to herself, and then we'll talk. 

They drove to a coffee place on the outskirts of town, a faceless chain placed in one of those 80s mall spaces, to make a plan. Once Pete was sugared and caffeinated to the hilt, they got in touch with Claudia so she could give them whatever information she managed to dig up from the allegedly secure records of local motels, hotels and restaurants to try and figure out where Helena might be.

"Good guess about high end places," Claudia complimented Myka for helping her narrow the search, "I think I have a hit."

"Charlotte Atlas," Myka read aloud from her phone screen. "She just can't help herself, huh?"

"Guess not," Pete said, through a mouthful of donut. 

"I'm sending her address to you now," Claudia said. Myka read it aloud. "The Rittenhouse, 210 W Rittenhouse Square."

Pete whistled, spraying the Farnsworth with a sticky mix of sprinkles and spittle. Myka glared at him. 

"So, how do you want to do this?" Pete asked, oblivious to her Level 9 look of death.

Myka shook her head and wiped the Farnsworth to clean the slate for some coherent, logical thinking. If Helena was still with the White Harts, the plan should be very straight forward: go to the Hotel, find Helena, retrieve the shard. That should be simple enough.

But what if she isn't? What if Helena is back to being that _other_ Helena, the Helena who would have thrust the trident for the third time in that river bed? Then the direct approach could be dangerous. And for some reason, Myka didn't have the confidence that Helena wouldn't pull the trigger this time around if Myka were to repeat her Yellowstone stunt.

She decided, consciously, analytically, that where Helena was concerned, she was best to be cautious, but that she would continue to trust her. After all, she'd been right before to trust Helena. Both at Yellowstone and when Walter Sykes took over the Warehouse.

She outlined her plan to Pete: they'd trust Helena, but they'd have backup in case it turned out Helena wasn’t to be trusted. Pete would wait outside, and Myka would have a Tesla and one of the new, smaller Tesla grenades ready to go, if Helena pulled anything.

Despite her worries, the larger part of her was excited at the thought of seeing Helena again. 

On the drive into town Pete strategised out loud all the points of entry/exit to The Rittenhouse, all the nooks and crannies in which one could hide themselves or an artefact, already planning how things will pan out in case Helena wasn't - well - Helena.

Myka, on the other hand, preferred to think about Helena. About her eyes and her cheekbones and hair - and how she constantly flicked it around; about how it fell on her shoulder; about how her shoulder met her neck with that curve, and the dip that was there; about how soft the skin there must be, about how sweet it must smell.

A part of her was bitter about that big lump of a man in Boone who had managed to touch all of those soft places before Myka. But if she'd understood some of HG's stories correctly, he was only one of many lovers. So it didn't make sense to get upset about that. Did it? She still remembered that last hug, the way Helena had felt against her. The smell of her hair...

"Mykes, what the hell are you thinking about? Is that... is that drool?"

"No," Myka answered incredulously, while forcefully shoving the back of her hand against the corner of her mouth, and just as forcefully dragging it against the other corner. "No drool," she asserted, but felt a hint of dampness on the back of her hand. Damn it, she thought, she needed to get this sorted in her head before going in to The Rittenhouse to face Helena. After all, the last time they met hadn't exactly match her expectations; the time before that ended unexpectedly; and the time before that... It's safe to say, Myka sighed as her mind analysed, that based on their past record, this rendezvous was also likely to leave her wanting, so the drool situation had to be kept in check. And, by the by, so should her expectations.

## * * *

 

The Rittenhouse was incredible. Sumptuous, tasteful, and obviously catered exclusively to the super-rich. Myka dressed well, but the concierge gave her a sceptical once-over before turning on a supercilious smile. It was times like this, she mused, that she loved having a badge. She flashed it and he paled, looking around as if the guests would be able to tell by some sort of rich-person telepathy that there was scandal at the Rittenhouse. (That would make a good murder mystery title, she thought idly.)

Much to her mirth, there was no telepathic connection between the prosperous people on the plush sofas. It turned out rich folks were just as oblivious as most people.  She walked up to the reception desk, discreetly flashing her badge again.

"Don't tell me," the clerk said with fake enthusiasm, "the primaries roller coaster is coming to town, and our president has chosen The Rittenhouse".

Myka screwed a cocky eyebrow at his jaded sarcasm. "No, actually. I'm after one of your guests."

The concierge took them to Ms. Atlas’ room personally, looking around nervously the whole time. They'd already cleared the rest of the rooms on the floor by calling each one and telling them to evacuate. It had cost them a few more minutes, but it was worth it. If Helena had already reunited the shard with the Bell, they didn't want to give her an army of people at her disposal. The rest of the hotel staff were busy clearing the rest of the building as an additional precaution.

When all that was left to do was knock on Helena's door, they dismissed the concierge, who was a few shades paler by that point Pete dropped his shoulders and rolled them back, then rocked his head from side to side, pushing air out quietly with his cheeks, as if he was about to enter a boxing ring.

Myka placed a hand on his arm.

He stopped and looked at her. "You sure this is how you wanna play it?"

Myka nodded, and Pete took two steps to the side, leaving her standing in front of the door to Helena's room.

Without further ado, she put the keycard in the lock. It beeped quietly, but she flinched all the same. She didn't know what to expect on the other side of the door. Would it be a slightly awkward hug from her almost-something Helena, or an attack from an artefact-possessed maniac?

With a quiet breath and clenched jaws, she pushed the metal handle down slowly until the latch clicked it's release heavily. She pushed the door carefully, looking for light cast in the floor, clothing or shoes, scuff marks in the carpet - signs of whether Helena was awake or even there at all.

There were none.

So she slid into the darkened room and closed the door behind her almost inaudibly.

She didn't want to alert Helena to her presence, so she made sure to move silently, the thick carpeting absorbing her footsteps. She was a foot away from the bed when she heard the unmistakeable 'snick' of a gun being cocked, right behind her ear. She swallowed.

"Perhaps you'd care to tell me why I find you here, ransacking my room?" a voice purred, just behind her, all velvety soft mixed with hard steel. Helena. But which Helena?

Myka swallowed again, hard. Something tugged at the pit of her stomach. Was it anger? Was it fear? Was it concern? Was it lust? Was it love? "If you think this is ransacking you may be in for a surprise, Helena," she said and spun around, her right hand hovering over the Tesla just under her jacket, "I'm just here to talk."

To her frustration, Helena still had that same effect on her. She was so beautiful, it just wasn't fair. Myka took a breath, hoping her nerves weren't too visible, then swallowed once more, to try to get the lump out of her throat.

"I know you have a thing about us meeting at gunpoint, Helena, but do you think you could put that down?" she said, gesturing at the gun still pointed at her head.

Helena quirked a brow and stabbed Myka with a cocky grin. She held the agent’s gaze for a moment and she could have sworn she could see about a hundred emotions fleeting in those mesmerising eyes of hers. She noticed some of those emotions were akin to the ones they never had a chance to explore, let alone express before Irene ordered her to disappear with the Astrolabe. And so it was, that the romantic in Helena got the better of her (for what might have been the first time) and she decided to trust that Myka wouldn't be angry or upset or professional or - worst of all - cold. So she uncocked the gun and lowered it slowly.

Myka's body immediately relaxed. Helena looked like she was _her_ Helena, and her mind was quick to comment that she had no right or evidence that would support her calling Helena hers. "It's good to see you," she said, a little shyly, and Helena smiled, her eyes twinkling in the darkness. She always looked as if she was amused, and that had made Myka's heart beat a little faster from the first day they'd met. “Do you have it?” 

"I do, Myka," Helena said, stepping forward and wrapping Myka up in her arms. "I have missed you so," she breathed, practically into Myka's ear, and Myka suppressed a shiver. 

The first second in Helena's embrace Myka's body actually stiffened with the surprise of how warm and welcoming Helena was, how warm and welcoming her arms were, how warm and welcoming her body was. It took a second for her to relax into the embrace, to wrap her arms around Helena and take her in in a way she never had done before; in a way she had never let herself do before.

She knew that Helena might still be evil, she might just be seducing her into a false sense of - not security - familiarity, maybe? Yet, being so close together in that moment was the most right Myka had felt in a long, long time.

Possibly since ever, she was thinking, comparing this greeting with any other she had had from family, from friends, from lovers....

...her train of thought was cut short as Helena's left arm glided down her back and around towards her waistline - towards where her Tesla was.

She stiffened, and Helena whispered in her ear, "What's the matter darling?" while still snaking her arm around, ever closer, towards the steampunk weapon. Myka was still trying to decide what to do when Helena's other hand made its way into her hair and pulled her head down until their mouths met.

Myka was frozen with indecision. This wouldn't be the first time that Helena had used her sexuality to gain someone's trust and steal their weapon. But that part of her was losing the will to fight as Helena's tongue slipped into her mouth and she made a sound that could have been a groan. Myka tried to think enough to work out where the hell Helena's other hand was as she tightened her grip on Myka's hair. She didn't think Helena was near her Tesla - it felt like her hand had stayed on the outside of Myka's hip. But give it another second and she wouldn't have the brain power to think at all. Was Helena playing her, or was this a real kiss?

This was simply too much for Myka. Yes, she wanted this, good god, she wanted this, but she didn't want it like this, when her mind was trying to figure out whether Helena was in it for her or for her weapon. She whimpered into a kiss, a whimper that ended with a distinct growl as she couldn't help herself from sucking on Helena's tongue and releasing it, then biting on her lower lip. She took advantage of the millisecond Helena was shocked at her assertion to spin them around, grip Helena's wrist at her side (not close enough to the Tesla, now that she held it) and push Helena  against the hotel room door - not breaking the kiss that had now turned to something else. Something cruel and hard and needy.

She was acting on instinct now, and that instinct drove her to slide her hands over Helena's ass and down to the back of her thighs. She lifted, and Helena was suddenly in her arms, her legs locked around Myka's waist, and they were devouring each other. Myka mindlessly moved them towards the bed, throwing Helena down and then staring at her, chest heaving, before throwing herself down, on top of the woman in front of her, kissing her again, then moving her mouth to Helena's neck, her chest...

"Myka. Mykes? What's going on in there?" Pete's voice crashed into her earpiece, and she jumped up, off the bed, almost falling over in her haste. What the hell was she doing? Was she really going to take Helena right here, when she was supposed to be on a mission?

Helena just about managed to collect herself in the split second it took Myka to jump off of her, not sure what was going on.

Now that she'd given the matter a fraction of thought, she didn't really know what was going on at all, from the moment someone opened her door: her prowling in a dark corner of the room waiting for someone to come in and steal the missing piece of the Liberty Bell was all but inevitable; having that person be Myka was highly probable; having Myka respond to her the way that she did -- not so much.

But -  Myka was off of her as quickly as she was on her, and Helena felt angry for having succumbed to her inner romantic, and confused with Myka's behaviour, and wanting. Heavens above, Myka had switched something on in Helena that Helena wasn't sure could be switched off in a way other than...

"Sorry," Myka muttered and pushed her hair back, "sorry, Helena, I..." she swallowed and Helena sat up and straightened her buttoned up top, more crumpled than usual.

"Sorry? For which part, Myka?" Helena asked, one eyebrow raised. "Breaking in to my hotel room, kissing me, or stopping?” 

"Uh... I don't know," Myka said, her hand rubbing at the back of her neck. "We came here to make sure you were okay, that the Bell hadn't... you know, that you weren't..."

"Oh," Helena said, her face falling. "You came to see if I had harnessed the Bell's power for myself, to take over the world, or to destroy it? Is that what this is?" she asked, her voice rising slightly in volume. "After all this time, Myka, you still don't trust me? Even after you told me what you did? That you were right to trust me? And now you're here to see if I'm using an artefact that could be used to destroy the world for my own evil reasons?"

Myka flushed. She didn't have any idea what to say to explain why she suspected Helena, never mind explain what possessed her to almost have sex with her during a mission.  

She clenched her jaws as she processed everything that had happened in the past three minutes, everything that had happened in the past day since Artie brought her back into their lives, and in the past year since Wisconsin, and in the time since she'd met Helena.

Her breathing hastened with every single thought, with every single memory – all concluding at the same, single answer, an answer she'd been so busy pushing down, ignoring, finding excuses to never act on. But Helena asked her a question - which part she was sorry for - and what she was sorry for most was stopping.

She lifted her own wrist towards her chin and spoke clearly into the hidden mic in the cuff of her sleeve: "The artefact is secure, Pete, HG is fine. Don't come in here. That's an order," and she followed on to rip the mic out of her sleeve, pull the earwig out and throw it recklessly on the soft carpet just before climbing back on the bed, pushing Helena to her back as she did so.

Once the decision was made, it was so simple to sink into Helena, to enjoy every gasp, every hiss, every involuntary movement of Helena's hips against her own leg. She ran her hands through Helena's hair, just because she could, and it felt every bit as glorious as she'd always imagined. They kissed as if they had no time, as if they'd never have enough time, and it wasn't long before Helena was naked from the waist up, her pants unzipped, and Myka, too, was half naked, her jacket thrown across the room and her shirt practically ripped off. Helena had always been stronger than she looked; hell, she'd lifted both of their weight on one arm, a nearly superhuman feat, when she saved Myka with her grappler gun. Thinking of the grappler, for some reason, spurred Myka on, and she bit Helena's collarbone savagely, tearing at her pants, making little frustrated noises when she couldn't pull them down as quickly as she wanted. 

Just as she was starting to get the stupid, maddening pants off - they were like a second skin, dammit - the door burst open, wood from the frame spraying across the room. Pete was holding his gun up, training it on them, and his eyes were so wide that Myka worried for a second that they might pop out. 

"Hands up, Lady Cuckooo - oooh shit what the fudge are you - MY EYES!!!!" he shouted, before turning his back and shouting something about brain bleach. 

"I TOLD you NOT to come IN here!" Myka roared, reaching for a pillow to cover the naked half of her body and she got up so she could look Pete straight in the eye, so he knew just how damn angry she was.

Pete pulled the fingers that covered his eyes apart, forming a tiny gap through which he caught a glimpse of Myka - looking taller than she usually does, her hair messier than it usually was, and even though she was naked behind that pillow (which he would have thought would make her self-conscious or something), Pete could tell with every fibre of his being that Myka was nothing but extremely pissed off and it would be ages before she even contemplated forgiving him.

But he had to go in there. He had to go in, because the last message he heard from her was garbled, and then there was nothing. "It sounded like comms were taken down, Mykes," he lowered his gun and took a step towards naked, angry Myka, holstering his gun, "I thought HG took down the comms."

"And why would I do such a thing?" Helena bellowed from the depth of the room.

"Jesus, Pete," Myka muttered. How could he be so stupid?

"Not only did the comms go down, but Artie called me and told me that HG might be able to, like, whammy you into doing whatever she wanted, so I pretty much had to come in. It's not my fault, Mykes!" he said, his face screwed up like a five-year old’s trying to pass the blame onto a sibling. 

"I am not whammied, Pete!" Myka shouted, before suddenly stopping, her brain working overtime. "Did you say the comms went down? Because if someone was jamming us, and it definitely wasn't Helena," she said, before Pete interrupted her. 

"Oh man... I got a bad vibe, guys..."

That was all he got out before the room was swarming with black-clad men carrying guns, shouting at the top of their lungs. Before Myka had a chance to pull her tesla, which was still at her waist, she saw a fist coming towards her and everything went black. 

## * * *


	2. Ring my Bell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Activating an artefact is never as straight forward as one would think. And there is always a downside, aside from bells that cannot be unrung.

When Myka came to, she was wedged in the corner of a holding cell, rather uncomfortably: her shoulder jammed into the cold wall, her head resting in the gap between two bars. She groaned and attempted to move - a huge mistake - as dizziness took hold and she could do nothing but let her body fall limp where it was.

She felt fingers at the nape of her neck, attempting to rub it. She groaned again and opened her eyes, turning her head as far as she could (given that giants were stomping around inside her skull) to find Helena on the other side of those bars, with her hands cuffed, attempting to relieve Myka's headache. Myka could just about register that the way Helena positioned her hands must have been stupidly uncomfortable for her as well.

"What..." Myka started but stopped, her jaw pulsing with pain. "What happened?" she muttered quietly.

"We've been kidnapped, it appears," Helena said, her tone light. That wasn't good. A light tone meant Helena was trying to be reassuring, which meant things were bad. Really, _really_ bad.

"Where's Pete?" Myka asked, slurring her words slightly. 

"I'm afraid I don't know," Helena said, apologetically. "He wasn't with us when I woke - which was about ten minutes ago, by the way."

"Where are we?"

"I don't know that either," Helena said. "I haven't heard any noise since we arrived. We could be anywhere."

Myka's mind was slow to come up with solutions or even ideas. Those giants stomping around up there are stomping through thick mud, it would seem. If only she didn't get rid of the earwig, she chided herself, only to argue back that they would probably have taken it out anyway, whoever _they_ are.

She then slowly - very slowly - looked around her. There were no windows, no visible doors either. There was the cell she was in, and the cell where Helena was, and a wall opposite the wall she was leaning against (which was grey and had no distinguishing features whatsoever) and that was about all she could see. "How many other cells are there?" she asks.

"Two more, one on either side of your cell and mine," Helena answers.

"Any doors?"

"One, fortified, by the looks of it. The handle, rather helpfully, is on its opposite side."

"Goddammit. Why would they kidnap us if they have the shard already?” Myka was trying to be logical. “What do they gain by kidnapping us?" Myka asked, her words coming out slowly and still slightly slurred as she tried to articulate her thoughts. 

"I don't know, darling. I saw them hit you and then I believe one of them used a taser to incapacitate me. I assume that someone dressed us in these clothes, since we were a little... unfit for company. Which is rather disturbing. And that is all I can tell you," Helena said, her face creased up in worry. 

"Can you pick the lock?" Myka asked wearily. Helena shook her head. 

"Even if I could manage it with these cuffs on, I'm afraid they took away the tools I usually have with me. For now, we are quite stuck," Helena said. 

Myka's head was swimming, so she gave up on trying to figure a way out. "I guess we just wait and see what happens?" she asked, and Helena nodded. 

"Perhaps we should talk, since we have the opportunity, about what happened earlier, in my hotel room," Helena said hesitantly. 

Myka blinked slowly. "Yeah..." she slurred, "perhaps we should talk," she said and tried to pull herself up so she could look at Helena. That was quite possibly the most graceless moment of her life, looking like a fawn finding its feet, but she managed to sit upright look to her left, where Helena was sitting lotus-style, as close as she could to the row of bars that separated them.

Helena smiled at the sight in front of her. Myka in brown scrubs, just about holding herself up, just about holding her head straight, just about holding her eyes open. She reckoned the blow they rendered to the right side of Myka's face (which was making its presence known in glorious technicolour) was excruciatingly powerful. And still - there was no person on earth she would rather be with right now.

"What?" Myka interrupted her adoration gruffly.

"Would you like to start or should I?"

"You can start."

Helena looked at Myka for a moment and considered what it was she wanted to say. It was her idea to talk, after all. It was her idea to kiss Myka. The problem is - Helena had worked so hard throughout the time she had known Myka to never say such words and really mean them. Perhaps now was the time. "I was rather hoping it will be you coming to fetch the shard. I have missed you terribly, Myka."

Myka swallowed. It was partly from nausea, but also from nerves. She had not been expecting this moment to come at all, never mind in a prison cell in an unknown location. And she was probably concussed. She took a deep breath, however, and ploughed on. 

"I... I really missed you too, Helena," she said, before chuckling slightly, causing her headache to worsen momentarily. "In case that wasn't obvious, when I pretty much jumped you."

Helena chuckled richly. "I don't think the fault was all yours, Myka. I'm afraid my good intentions fled as soon as I hugged you. You felt so very wonderful in my arms."

Myka stared, a little brainlessly. "You... what about when we hugged in Boone? You managed to resist my charms then," she stated. 

Helena's face fell. She'd done a lot in her life. A lot of good, a lot of bad and a lot of crazy. But parting from Myka in Boone was rather a regrettable moment in her tapestry. While she may not be going on a time-travelling bender to try and fix it, it is definitely a moment in time she would have preferred to have happened differently. "I have nothing to say for myself other than I had made a mistake then," she said after a while, "I am sorry."

Myka wasn't sure if her feeling side-swiped by Helena's honesty was because she didn't expect it or because it was some kind of residual momentum from the fist that collided with her face not too long ago. "Sorry?"

"I am sorry I wasn't a bigger person then, in Boone," Helena spoke with conviction which was mysteriously sourced, "I am sorry I let myself believe you when you were clearly being noble."

Myka closed her eyes and swallowed again, recalling the details of that moment, when she chose to let go of Helena out of some misguided notion that the smartest woman she knew would come to realise (sooner than she actually had) that she didn’t belong in those suburbs with that man. That same misguided notion that she should let go of Helena, because Helena would surely find her way to her – but that part of Myka’s misguided chivalry is something Myka doesn’t dare think of because it raises all sorts of questions she doesn’t like answering.

"I'm sorry I didn't hear the words you were saying without actually speaking them," Helena took a breath, "because I love you too."

Or at least that's what Myka thought Helena said, because a loud series of metallic clangs rattled the cells just after Helena said "I".

"What in the hell was that?" she exclaimed, making an ill-fated attempt to get to her feet, which instead ended with her landing rather heavily on one shoulder on the floor. From her prone position, she saw men in the same balaclavas and black clothing from earlier. They were carrying stun guns, now, instead of handguns, but they had the same rigid posture that bespoke discipline and obedience. 

They entered Helena's cell, dragging her to her feet and taking her with them. Helena caught her eye and mouthed, "I love you," as they took her out of the cell to god only knew where. Myka tried again to get to her feet but she ended up falling more severely this time, catching her head on the cell wall. She landed on the floor, on her back, and the last thing she saw before passing out was a pair or booted feet approaching her at speed. 

## * * *

 

When Myka came to again, she felt even less comfortable than she felt when she came to the first time. Her shoulders felt like they were encased in iron. Her whole upper torso, actually, felt like it was being forced back and held tight. When she tried to move her right arm she found out why -- her arms were bound tightly behind her back.

She straightened her head with tremendous effort and looked down - her chest was strapped as well. She was sitting on a chair in the middle of a small room that seemed to have no doors or windows or anything of any kind, except some pale LED lighting. It was also entirely still and silent - no sign of Helena or Pete or anyone. Or anything.  
  
This was not turning out to be a good day for Agent Myka Bering.

She couldn't work out what they could possibly want from her. If they had the Liberty Bell shard, they could be taking over the world or starting world war III or enacting whatever other crazy plan they had in mind. What did they want with her? And where was Helena? And Pete? This couldn't be good. 

"Agent Myka Bering," a voice said, emanating from somewhere behind her, she thought. 

"Yes?" she replied acerbically. 

"We are going to ask you a series of questions. If you answer them honestly, no harm will come to you or your colleagues. If you do not..."

Suddenly the wall in front of her lit up - she wasn't sure if it was a screen or a window. But in front of her there were images of two rooms, both of which held 2 figures. On the left, an unconscious Helena was hanging from chains that were affixed to the ceiling, and a man in a mask and black clothing had a gun held to her head. On the right, it was the same scene, except the person hanging from the ceiling was Pete. Myka swallowed and tried not to panic. 

It's a terrible sensation, when one's heart stops beating, when blood stops coursing through arteries and veins, stops carrying oxygen and carbon dioxide, stops carrying warmth. It's a terrible feeling of a gripping chill, of the clutches of death; Myka knew that her heart hadn’t actually stopped beating, but the grip of those clutches felt very real to her, more so than any other time she found her life hanging in the balance.

"Sure," Myka said curtly.

"As a gesture of good faith, Agent Bering, and to show you your colleagues are still alive..." the voice boomed and stopped suddenly.

The hooded characters on the screens picked something up from the floor next to them - containers, mugs? - and brought them to Helena's and Pete's mouths, in eerie synchronicity.

Pete and Helena seemed to be taking a mouthful of whatever that was in those cups. Helena spat the liquid out but Pete swallowed it and shook his chained arms.

"How does the Liberty Bell work?" the voice asked.

Her blood was turning to ice in her veins. Myka Bering didn't love easily, but when she did, she loved fiercely. And the two people she loved most in the world were in front of her, with guns to their heads. But she had been here before, in a situation where the fate of the world was at stake, and she knew that she shouldn't even have to think about this. If these people didn't know how to use the Liberty Bell, then they couldn't use it to take over the US and then the world. Two lives balanced against that was nothing. These two lives, however... Myka would be lost without them.

"I'm Agent Myka Bering, badge number 379, and I have no idea what you're talking about," was the best she could come up with, because that's what she'd been trained to say in these situations, and her concussed brain didn't seem to be working the way it usually did, and there was just so much at stake.

In the two seconds of silence after coming up with that answer, she excused this as a good way for testing the boundaries of her captors.

The silence was broken by a muffled cry from Pete, who appeared to have collapsed after being zapped by what looked like a cattle prod. Helena made no sound, but her body fell limp on the screen.

They mean business, she thought and clenched her jaw, knowing it will bring her a lot of pain. She couldn't be the only one not suffering.

"You're making a mistake," she gritted through her pain, as inspiration suddenly hit her.

There was an audible pause, and the voice said, simply, "Explain".

"If you want the Bell to work, you need all of us," she said. "Do you even know who she is?" she managed to inject some disdain into her tone.

"Yes," the voice said, but there was a note of uncertainty in its tone. "Helena Wells, formerly Emily Lake."

"You don't know a damn thing," Myka said contemptuously. Her brain, however, was spinning. How could she use this?

There was a longer pause this time. "I know more than you realise, Ophelia," the voice seethed from behind her, "let me send Colorado Springs PD an anonymous tip about Cuban contraband in your dad's book shipments," followed by another quick silence. "Other than being the mind behind HG Well's writing before the turn of the previous century, the only good Ms. Wells, or Ms. Lake, or whatever name she's going by now, is - is by being leverage."

Myka tried not to cringe. This could be a hint that they are after something only she knows, something only she has -- if they really are using Helena as leverage.

Then again, they could be lying.   
  
She could lie back. "If that's all you think she's good for, you obviously don't know what you're talking about," Myka swiped her tongue against the bottom of her front teeth, pretending to think. "Fine," she said. "Kill her. Kill them both. And kiss your chance at using the Liberty Bell goodbye."

The voice paused again, and Myka took in a long, shaky breath, trying to appear as calm as possible. She had made her choice, for now. Muddy the waters, make them think that Helena and Pete were integral to any chance at activating the Bell and its powers. And then...? Find a way to get them all out of this, alive, with the Bell safe.

Not too much to ask from Agent Myka Bering.

But then a black hood was thrown over her head, the chest strap was loosened and a solid hand was tucked in her armpit to roughly lift her up just before throwing her on the ground where she hit her head again and blacked out.

## * * *

 

After she was unchained and while being dragged somewhere, Helena moved each of the muscles in her limbs subtly, checking for damage. To any onlooker, it would look like her muscles were twitching involuntarily, but it was Helena twitching them on purpose. She had been captive for weeks, months even, before the Bronze, and Victorian England was even less forgiving with its incarceration conditions than this. She knew how prevent muscle damage from settling. So far, she reckoned, her right shoulder was dislocated.  
  
Thinking of the last time she dislocated that shoulder relaxed her a little bit (it involved her grappler and a speeding SUV and an agent she’d only recently confessed her love to). Given her past experiences of being held captive, Helena also knew how to use her memories to lighten up the darkest, most still of existence; and her memories of Myka, particularly ones made very recently, were lightening indeed.

She was then manhandled onto a chair of sorts, her arms were bound tightly behind her and her chest strapped almost to the point that her breathing was constricted.

And then, the hood came off.

"Miss Wells," a voice said. She'd heard it before, when it was trying to persuade Myka to give up the secrets to the Bell. It was an unusual voice; one that could potentially be male or female. Or perhaps it was altered somehow.

"Yes?" she replied smoothly.

"You know we want the Bell. What would you do, what would you give, to save Myka Bering?"

The wall in front of her lit up, showing an image of two rooms. In one, Pete Lattimer, and in the other, Myka. Both were chained, suspended from the ceiling, and accompanied by black-clad men with guns.

The man in the cell with Myka started, visibly, and then nodded in response to whatever he'd heard. He drew back his arm and hit Myka in the head with the butt of the gun, hard.

Helena screamed in rage and fear. All the pleasant memories she had had a few moments ago had all but vanished, and were replaced with ones she had fought for a century to subdue. Fought, and failed, it should be noted.

Myka already had a bad concussion. More damage to her head could kill her. That blow alone could have fractured her skull. Helena had helplessly observed a scene like this before and it drove her mad. She could not sit idly and watch another one unravel.

"I would do anything to save her. Anything!" she shouted.

"Good. Then you will come with us, Miss Wells, and show us how to activate the Bell. If you are obedient, we will drop Agent Bering at a hospital. If you are not... we will drop her at the morgue."

She was hooded again, unstrapped, and then pulled up by her dislocated shoulder. The pain from her shoulder wasn't enough to make her scream, but the thought of losing Myka was. That was an unkind thought to keep in her mind while her world darkened again and she was hauled elsewhere.

She heard two doors opening and closing, she heard the hum of an elevator and felt it stop after an ascent. As she was dragged out she felt a chill in the air, but also freshness that did not exist wherever it was they were being held.

The hood came off again.

She was standing in the middle of a large and empty warehouse, its windows boarded up, but not so tightly as to keep the fresh air out. Fresh air that smelled salty. They were close to the ocean.

The man in black spun her around and there it was - secure to a large wooden truss - the Liberty Bell.

"You said you would do anything, Ms. Wells," the voice hummed from everywhere, seemingly, "then do it."

"How did you manage to steal the Liberty Bell?" she asked, impressed despite herself. She thought even she might have had trouble with that task. 

"That is not your concern," the voice said. She turned her head slightly, to meet his or her eyes, but was greeted with a sharp slap to her face instead. 

"Eyes front, Miss Wells," the voice said, a hint of laughter in its tone. She ground her teeth. 

"Where is the shard?" she asked, and it was placed in her hand by Goon number 1 on her right. She looked at the thin piece of metal, and a plan formed. If she concentrated and moved quickly enough, this could be a deadly weapon. Or it could get her killed, along with Myka and Pete. 

"What assurances can you give me that Myka will be safe?" she asked, and the Goon number 2 on her left shifted, showing her a tablet on which a video feed was displayed. A video feed from the back of a van being driven by yet another black-clad goon, a feed which image shifted from the driver to Myka’s wan and bruised face and her listless body rocking gently on a gurney as the van hurtled down streets Helena couldn’t possibly recognise due to the poor quality of the image. After a minute or so, the van stopped and the camera was handed to the driver who climbed out of the van and aimed it at the building it parked next to – a hospital. Which hospital – she could not tell. He then walked to the back of the van and pulled the gurney Myka was on out, and headed towards the doors.

"You have your assurance, Miss Wells. Now, how do we use the Bell?" the voice asked.

A new idea took hold and she got ready to tell the biggest whopper of her life convincingly. “I have to be the one to use it first and I will then transfer its powers to you,” she said, “but only once Miss Bering and Mr. Lattimer are safe.”

“What do you take me for, Miss Wells?” the voice huffed angrily.

“You must be aware of the history of the Bell in order to understand how to operate it. I gather that you had tried placing the shard in the crack and nothing happened, am I right?” she even astonished herself with her cocky ingenuity.

There was no answer.

“I will take your angry silence as confirmation,” she smiled slyly. If whoever-it-was tried to put the shard in and it didn’t work, there is a good chance it won’t work for her either. “The Bell will only abide by those who have a true cause with which to ring it.”

“And you have a true cause, Miss Wells?” the voice asked dismissively.

“Have you read any of my stories? My essays?”

Another long silence.

“And how will you be transferring its power to me?” the voice questioned.

“It’s a simple matter of using one or two artefacts from the Warehouse,” she brushed off arrogantly.

“Do not toy with me, Wells,” the voice barked, “Just as you want your assurances, I want mine. Which artefacts will transfer the power of the Bell?”

Helena took a deep breath and considered which artefacts could do this. She considered lying for a moment, but given this person managed to steal the Liberty Bell and already knew about the Warehouse, she’d better play it safe. “A lock of Sampson’s hair and a bus pass of a singer called Bob Dylan, of course.”

The voice said nothing for a while.

Helena realised she may have landed them in more trouble if the voice and its goons attempted to seize the Warehouse first.  She did, however, hope that much like most villains, this one too was too impatient to see their plan unfold. That’s where she excelled as a villain, she congratulated herself. Evil geniuses are a dime a dozen. But ones with blessed with patience are few and far between.

“There is also a strong possibility that attempting to use the Bell will kill me,” she said with a shrug, goading the voice to come to a faster decision, “which will make for a convenient ending to our encounter for you.”

“Fine, then,” the voice said after long minutes of silence. “Use the Bell.”

Before doing this, she had to consider her options because she could feel the lure of the Bell’s powers already, and it was yet to be active: she could slit the throat of Goon number 2 with the shard and then incapacitate Goon number 1, with the risk of more Goons coming about (and with the hope that none would); she could pretend to stick the shard in the Bell and exercise a more elaborate plan that will send her to the very belly of this conspiracy where she could untangle it; she could stick the damn shard in the damn crack and hope that it didn’t work; and if it did, she will do her darned best to fight it and not succumb to its corrupting powers.

And for the life of her, Helena truly believed that attempting to activate the Bell would be the lesser of all possible evils.

She decided to take the chance. She didn't know what the odds were for fighting; she couldn't see her enemies, didn't know how many of them there were, and how many of them were armed. So the only thing to do was to try and activate the Bell. 

"Stand back, then, sirs," she said, as confidently as she could muster, and she stepped forward, waiting for any objections. The information they had wasn't specific about who had to place the shard, but chances were that if she placed it and it worked, she would have control of the Bell.

She placed the shard of metal carefully in the gap, sending up a prayer to any deities listening that the Bell would choose her as its channel and not the kidnapper or his goons. She watched in amazement as the Bell repaired itself, a bright light shining from it that centred - on her. She could feel the power of it calling her, so for her first trick, she said, "Drop all of your weapons and lie face down on the floor." She turned gingerly and found herself facing the elevator, with six - no, seven men, all dressed in black and with numerous weapons next to them, all lying face down on the floor. She took a deep breath of relief. She had become the master of the Bell’s powers.

"Kill them, kill them all," the Bell whispered, and Helena tilted her head, thinking - why not? They would have done the same to her. They would have done the same to Myka. She ground her teeth and took a deep breath, her rational mind reminding her that she might need them alive to locate Pete and Myka. They could live, for now. But with each moment that the Bell tolled its power into her mind, her resolve to do the right thing waned. 

Pete first, the voice of her own mind shouted over the sound of the Bell in her ears. Pete, for all his flaws and childlikeness had a strong moral compass and a mean right hook - so if anyone would be able to keep her on track and not kill anyone she didn't absolutely have to, Pete would be it.

As she walked over the bodies of the men who laid face down on the floor, she was considering that actually, it might be necessary to kill these mercenaries, for surely they will crop up at some point down the line and will need to be incapacitated anyway.

She took another breath and tightened her fists when she felt a sharp pain in her right shoulder -- right, that was still out of joint. Killing these men wouldn't be half the fun with her right arm out of the game...

Pete! her mind shouted again, and she summoned the elevator. "Tell me where Lattimer is held," she spoke with dark authority.

A cacophony of voices came from the 7 men, from which she made out Pete's location, and Helena focused on the hum of the elevator to keep the murderous impulses at bay.

"Pete," she choked out, as she used the key provided by one of the goons to unlock the door. "I'm afraid I had to use the Bell to take control of the situation and to ensure Myka's safety. And I'm afraid it seems rather likely that it will turn me into - what is it you call me?"

"Lady Cuckoo?" he coughed, still hanging from chains. She unlocked those, too, focusing on the task fixedly to avoid the tolling of the Bell in her head. 

"Yes, that's it," she said, and his eyes widened. 

"Okay, Helena. We'll fix this. Just you hold on. Think about Myka, what she would want you to do. Before you say anything, just ask yourself that, okay? What would Myka do?"

She grasped at that thought, desperately, and repeated it over and over in her head like a mantra. She half-supported Pete upstairs, finding the goon squad still prone on the floor. Pete picked up a few of their weapons, slinging one around Helena's neck and stuffing a handgun into her pants pocket, before finding zip ties in one of the squad's pocket and using it to disable all of them. 

"Where is your boss?" Helena asked, and they all fell over themselves to tell her. The voice had been coming from a speaker behind them, but the man in charge was in a penthouse hotel room to the North. They gave her the name of the hotel and the room number. 

"Where is Agent Bering?" she asked, finally, and again, they all told her, over and over. She was at a hospital a few miles away. Their boss had sent the signal to have her brought in as soon as she had placed the shard into the Bell. 

"How should we play this, Pete?" Helena asked. "I don't know what to do, and I think that if I give any orders to anyone, even inadvertently, I could end up having hordes of followers. Which will make the temptation a little more difficult to resist," Helena said. 

Pete rubbed his temple, where a wild bruise had started to blossom. "If it were Myka and me, we'd have split up, one for the hospital and one for the boss, get 'em all at the same time," he said after a moment.

"Wise," Helena croaked, fighting the loud ringing that dominated her thoughts, "otherwise we run the risk of one or the other fleeing."

Pete looked at her sombrely, opening and closing his mouth with no sound coming out.

"What?" Helena growled impatiently.

"You're not Myka," Pete whispered with a wince, expecting the wrath of HG in her altered state.

The volume suddenly increased inside her head. Whispers of "Kill him. Such insolence cannot be tolerated..." itched across the inside of her skull. There was a distant horror at the idea of it, but the larger part of her rejoiced at the notion. To crush his skull, to make him bang his head against the wall until he died... the appeal was unending. She felt her lips stretch into a feral grin, and Pete faltered, stepping back. The fear in his eyes snapped her out of it. For now. She rubbed at her forehead, trying to erase the way those words and images had scurried through her like scarab beetles, glistening and deadly.

"Stay close to me, Pete," she said hoarsely, handing him her tesla. "Should it seem that I have lost control, do not hesitate." She held his eyes until he nodded, swallowing thickly.

"We should check on Myka, first. Then we find the one who did this," she said, and they made their way to the car, each leaning on the other for support.

Eight minutes' drive feel like an eternity when an unfamiliar yet very compelling voice in your head tells one to murder their driver. Helena took the whole of two breaths during the journey, having found that starving herself of oxygen helped to keep the voice at bay.

Breathing exercises were of no use when they left the car, approached the reception desk at the ER, and Helena's rage - her own rage as opposed to that fuelled by the Bell - overtook her, knowing she played a part in causing Myka's injuries. All this anger tapped into Helena's existential anxiety, the very same anxiety that brought her to stand at the Caldera in Wyoming with a trident.

Her brain began moving in a familiar pattern - the world was lost, humanity destroyed everything it touched. Everything good and pure in this world, everything innocent was tainted. How could she have ever thought to bring a child into this? A quick death would be a mercy. 

Her first sight of Myka drove the air from her lungs. Myka's head was wrapped in bandages, and an earnest young doctor was talking about ICP and burr holes and all sorts of medical jargon that Helena understood and that enraged her. They had drilled into Myka's skull to relieve the pressure, cut her beautiful hair. She still might not wake. Helena felt the rage fill her, and she suppressed a scream. She thought, distantly, that those men, still back on the floor at the warehouse abasing themselves, should beat each other until their skulls split, and she smiled as she felt them do just that. They bled profusely cutting themselves out of the zipties Pete placed them in, paired off to trade blows and kill each other, carefully ensuring that each blow did the maximum damage to please their mistress. 

"What are you smiling at, Helena?" Pete asked nervously, and she shook her head. 

"Nothing you need concern yourself about, Peter," she said airily, and with one last look at Myka, she stepped out of the room. The young doctor was waiting to see if they had any more questions. Helena leaned over and whispered in her ear, and the woman nodded, almost bowing as she backed away. 

"What did you say to her?" Pete asked, and Helena just smiled. 

They stopped to call Claudia and ask her and Steve to come down and assist them. The Bell would need to be neutralised, and soon, if Helena was to keep her control, and they just didn't have the equipment with them to do that. It wasn't going to fit in a standard neutraliser bag, that was for sure. 

"Let's go get our guy," Pete said, and they made their way to the parking garage to find their villain. 

## * * *


	3. Bell the Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the cavalry to hand, Claudia, Steve and Pete are finding out what Helena is up to.

Claudia stormed into the hotel suite Pete told them to get to as soon as they landed. Steve stayed in the lobby to handle the LEOs.

"In here!" Pete shouted from the office, a side room in a suite that was probably half the size of the freakin' Warehouse. Claudia had never seen anything like it.

"So this is how the morally challenged live..." she quipped with a sarcastic smile that froze when she noticed the room: it was messed up, like, the Mountain and the Viper had a fight in this room messed up. There was blood _everywhere_. Pete was sitting with his gun drawn and pointing at Helena who was tied to a chair in front of the TV that had what looked like a looping run of Rorschach ink blots. It was strangely hypnotising.

Pete shook her by shoulder, "Don't look at the TV, Claud," his voice pulled her out and back to him.

"What in the hell?" Claudia looked behind her - there was a guy in the far corner of the room, his arms bandaged from wrist to elbow, blood slowly soaking through the gauze. Adding that to the blood that was spattered all over the room's hardwood floor in odd patterns, Claudia's best guess was that the guy was walking around while stabbing himself repeatedly with a --

She pulled a purple glove from her back pocket and slapped it onto her right hand. She bent down carefully, keeping an eye on the guy who was obviously passed out, and reached for a shard of metal that laid at his feet. Claudia picked it up between finger and thumb and held it up against the light.

"There was a second shard," Pete said. "And Dr. No Jr. here decided to mock the Mother of Villains with it. Big mistake."

Claudia unfolded a static bag and placed the shard in it before she heard Pete's meek "Don't...", because the shard sparked so brightly and for so long that the static bag melted.

She exhaled in temporary defeat and looked at Pete. "The Rorschach?" she pointed at the 50 inches of monochrome images.

"Artie is transmitting this, to keep her mind clean."

"And the gun?"

"We don't know for sure, but we think an electric charge will actually make her worse."

"Holy frackin' shitstorm, Petester," Claudia muttered. "How the hell do we fix this? Usually I'd ask Helena for help with working this stuff out. Oh! Wait! She came up with this new type of goo that hardens into, like, amber, you know like on Fringe? I just don't remember the formula. Dammit."

She walked back and forth through the Game of Thrones set, trying to avoid the blood spatter, and side-eyeing Helena anxiously.

"Can we wake her up, like for a minute, without her setting our faces on fire?"

Pete shrugged uncomfortably.

"I don't know, Claud. She was getting pretty terrifying before we worked out the TV thing. She was managing to hold on enough that she didn't hurt me, but I could tell it was a battle in there," he said, indicating Helena's head with a vague pointing gesture.

"Maybe I can remember it myself. otherwise, we'll be spraying that Bell from here to eternity and it won't make a damn bit of difference judging by the little pool of plastic over there," Claudia said, sitting down at the desk with a pen and some paper and a look of dedicated concentration on her face. Behind her, Pete watched Helena nervously, equally scared by and for her. God only knew what was going on inside that head of hers. 

Two hours or so later, Steve walked in, having concluded matters with the local police.

"Who let the dogs out in here?" Steve asked with a worried frown, hands on his hips.

Claudia mumbled something from the desk over which she was pouring, then looked up. "Pinky here," she pointed at the slumped man in the corner with the back of her pen "was taunting Brain," she pointed at Helena who had a bit of drool pooling at the corner of her mouth, hypnotised by the TV, "with another piece of the artefact and Brain went all shades of bananas." she finished and went back to what looked like a doodle that stretched over a hundred pieces of paper. "Pete. Drool."

Pete got up and wiped the corner of Helena's mouth.

 

## * * *

 

Helena, at first, had no idea where she was. The patterns on the television had drowned out the voices for a long time, and she had floated, thoughtless, aimless, in a womb-like void. It was probably the most content she'd been in years. But the whispers increased in volume until they could no longer be ignored. She felt Pete wipe her mouth and she whispered quietly to him. He leant over and untied her bonds, and she stood, suddenly free.

"Helena. Stop!"

That was Steve, who was standing in front of her, suddenly, in this blood-drenched room that she barely remembered. He had a tesla held steadily, pointing at her. Claudia was sitting at the desk, still absorbed in her task.

The voices told Helena to kill the girl; she was probably the only one capable of neutralising the Bell, and they needed the Bell. Something in Helena, however, would not allow that.

"Steve," she said, quietly, and he looked at her with wide eyes. "Get me the papers that Claudia has been working on and the remaining shard of the Bell. Tie her up gently, and follow me, both of you," she said, indicating Pete. She stood, and Steve, completely under her thrall, as everyone would be, soon, did exactly as she asked, tying a wide-eyed Claudia to the chair and taking the items Helena wanted. He presented them to her on his knees, as it should be, and she took them absently, walking outside and trusting to her subjects to keep her safe and bring her to the Bell. Soon enough, they would be able to infect others, making them her followers too. The being that used to be Helena Wells smiled, and had Myka Bering been awake and able to see that smile, she would have shuddered.

It could not have been more than a mile from the Hotel to where the Bell was. But given it was early afternoon, and the location was downtown Philly, and all it took for someone to join the mass of followers was for Helena to wish they get out of her way -- by the time they reached the Bell, Helena was being followed be a crowd that was a thousand people strong.

The crowd simply stopped at the entrance to the waterfront warehouse, and Helena walked back into where she and Pete and Myka were held not a few hours ago - on her own.

That was probably a good thing, because the floor of that warehouse was littered with the blood and the brains and the bodies of the goons who bashed each other's heads open - quite the gruesome scene to walk into. Not that any of Helena's followers would have minded.

She approached the Bell with the second shard in her hand, her face lacking expression, breathing even and slow.

She held the shard atop her outstretched palm just above where the crack used to be. The shard began to glow and the Bell hummed - literally hummed - like electricity or a tuning fork, like it had never stopped ringing, and the shard melted in Helena's hand and dripped through her fingers and onto the Bell, leaving a nasty burn in its wake.

Helena's expression, however, remained unchanged. Her breathing still even and slow.

Then the humming stopped. Completely. In the Warehouse, in Helena's head.

For a split second, Helena's mind and eyes were clear and she took one long breath as herself, relieved that this was over.

But as that split second ticked away, a sound louder than anything tore thorough Helena's ears and she screamed in the agony of her eardrums being pierced. She collapsed on the floor, as the sound, and the hell-raising pain it induced, were draining life from her.

Outside the warehouse, one thousand people fell to the floor at once.

 

## * * *

 

In a hospital not terribly far away, Myka Bering woke with a start. She had been having the worst dream - Helena was losing herself, had been taken over by something horrible. Since Myka didn't really believe in magic and dreams being real, and despite all of her years in the Warehouse, she didn't worry too much about it at first.

When she found her Farnsworth, however, and called Pete, getting no answer, she began to worry. She tried Claudia next - nothing. Then Steve. Nothing. She decided to try Artie next, a strange foreboding hunch telling her not to speak to Helena. Artie answered immediately, grumbling that she shouldn't be awake, never mind calling people, but it was clear that he, too, couldn't contact any of the team. And Artie was scared. She hung up on him, getting out of bed and shuffling to the bathroom. Her head was painful, but she didn't know what had happened, beyond threats from that voice.

She went to the bathroom, relieved when her pee was clear and blood-free. She was worried about internal injuries. When she'd washed her hands, she found her chart on the end of the bed and read through it. She'd had increased intracranial pressure and they'd had to do a procedure to save her from brain damage. They drilled holes in her head. She was a little pissed at that, because her hair was one area she was a little vain about. But she could deal with that later. She twisted what was left of her hair back, tying it out of her way. It looked a little outlandish, with missing patches and with bits of bandage here and there, but it would have to do.

She had to find Helena, and soon, or something bad was going to happen.

For once, she decided not to ignore her gut, and quickly dressed, finding her weapons and cell in the bedside drawer. She checked her pockets for a particular item that she always carried nowadays - neutraliser earplugs. It was surprising how many artefacts were activated by sound. And given that this was a Bell - well, it was plain common sense. She steeled herself and sneaked out of the hospital room, making sure to avoid any staff on her way, and jumped in a cab at the entrance, giving the driver the address of the hotel where she'd last seen her team.

She made her way through the revolving doors into the lobby of the Rittenhouse, the bellhop and concierge exchanging uncomfortable looks. They recognised her, which made Myka feel a bit more at ease, because they should, then, know about everything that had happened earlier.

"Having a rough day?" the concierge asked dryly.

Myka was blocking sarcasm from her communication bands because she had no time to fuck around. Her partner was missing, the rest of her team was AWOL, her boss would have a fit if he knew she was up and about, the woman she loved was in a bad way, oh, and she had fucking holes in her head. So she discreetly pointed the tesla at the concierge as she walked around to his side of the desk and jabbed it between his ribs once she was close enough. "Tell me everything you know," she growled in his ear angrily.

"I don't know what you're talking about..." the little creep said, his face clearly showing that he was lying. She didn't need Steve's talent to know that this guy would take bribes to do anything.

"You know where they took them. Tell me everything, or I will personally ensure that you go through the rest of your life infertile. Do you understand me?"

He understood. In 5 minutes, she was in another cab heading to a different hotel's penthouse suite. Apparently that was where the boss could be found - the man who paid the bribes. It took a little over ten minutes to get to the right place, and a quick flash of her badge got her access to the room, where she found what looked like a scene from Dexter, and a man who looked like he was dying the death of a thousand cuts.

She took a moment to examine the scene. The blood spatter was messy and didn't tell a story other than the guy in the corner must have randomly cut himself – she was guessing the arms, since they were bandaged.

And now that she was looking at them, the bandaging technique looked familiar: there were small knots at the top and bottom of the run of gauze. This was something Pete did. Or so she hoped, anyway, because that was the slightest glimmer of hope that Pete was alive.

She made a slow approach towards the desk on the other side of the room - it was a beastly Mahogany piece that fit right in with the nouveau riche decor of the room. It was also very tidy. Too tidy, almost, given the utter mayhem in the room. There was absolutely nothing on it. Not even a droplet of blood.

Myka walked around it to find a piece of paper scrunched up on the floor. She picked it up and unfurled it to find a part of the formula that Helena and Claudia worked on -- long before the business with the trident, back when Helena was getting back in with the Warehouse -- only it was incomplete and wrong. Claudia (by the handwriting) got some of her variables mixed up (and Myka remembers the formula, even with holes in her head, which, in itself, is a relief).

"Three Seven Nine...." she heard the groan of death from behind her.

She found the source of the noise - a gagged and bound Claudia Donovan, tied to a heavy wooden chair that was turned to its side. She untied the young woman carefully, her usual dexterity and grace missing, probably due to the repeated head injuries she'd endured, and helped her sit up.

"Myka! We have to find them - Helena has them all under her control, like totally these are not the droids you're looking for. She made Steve tie me up and she took the formula with her, and now I can't remember it anyway, and we totally need it to neutralise the Bell..." she said, all in one breath, and it took Myka a few seconds to decipher it all.

"Did she hurt you, Claud? Did she hurt anyone?" Myka asked anxiously.

"Well. She definitely hurt Douche Mc A-hole over there, but he kind of deserved it. She's still fighting it, Mykes, I can tell," Claudia said, straightening her back gingerly. "She looked at me like she was going to kill me, like she was just going to wipe me out without a thought, but then it was like she was herself again for a second, and she told Steve to tie me up gently. Which is why I didn’t end up stabbing myself to death with a pair of scissors or something."

Myka internally giggled at the word scissors, as her mind returned her briefly to the Rittenhouse before everything had gone to shit. Damn, she wished she could go back in time. She hadn't even had time to process what had happened between her and Helena before all of this insanity had started. “And the upside down chair?...” Myka tried to form a question, not doing terribly well with that either.

“I tried to get to the drawers and get myself untied,” Claudia muttered under her breath, “I miscalculated how freakin’ heavy the chair was…”

Myka tapped her lip with a finger as she turned to look at their prisoner. Who was he and why had he done all of this? What was his endgame? She turned back to Claudia.

"Claud, I know the formula for the goo - the one that you were writing. I'm gonna write it down, and you're gonna do whatever it is you need to do to make the stuff, and in the meantime, I'm going to talk to Senor Psychopath over there and find out what the hell this is all about. With any luck, we can find out where the others are and neutralise the Bell so we can all go home."

Claudia nodded, her face serious, and Myka sat down to write out the formula, her mind whirling as she tried to make sense of what had happened in the last 24 hours.

"So...uhm..." Claudia skirted around the issue while looking over Myka's shoulder as she jotted down the formula effortlessly, "how are you doing?" she asked quietly.

"Humph?" Myka hummed, concentrating, as she recalled the formula from memory.

"How are you doing? Pete said you were in a bad shape at the hospital."

"I'm fine," Myka answered distractedly.

"Dude," Claudia tried to water down her concern with her own brand of lightness. "Pete said you were sedated, and beaten pretty badly, and with... uhm... holes in your head."

"Yeah," Myka continued distractedly, "Helena had just told me she loved me," she etched on the paper furiously, not raising her eyes from the page, "so lots of stuff to keep me confused”. She finished, leaned back a bit, narrowed her eyes while examining the paper she was drawing on. She nodded slowly as a smile crept across her face.

"But not confused enough so that I forget this," she stated salubriously and held up the paper for Claudia's inspection.

"Dude, that is like... Mykes, you have holes in your head, and you still got this right. You're like - you have a superpower, dude!" Claudia gushed, running off to make phone calls to arrange whatever chemicals and equipment she needed. If Myka knew Artie and Mrs Frederic, those supplies would be there within the hour.

Myka took a deep breath to compose herself, her back to the unfortunate (but probably deserving) victim of Helena's freaky mind-control whammy, as Pete would undoubtedly be calling it, were he not already under its thrall. It was time to get some answers.

She walked over to the man who, it appeared, had started all of this chaos by ordering them to be kidnapped. She needed to know where everyone was, and she needed to know what the hell he was up to.

"All right," she said, out loud, pulling off the guy's gag and slapping his face lightly to bring him back to consciousness. He looked up at her bloodshot eyes, his arms pulling at his bonds. "Who are you, and what do you know about all of this?" she asked, and he looked at her dully, saying nothing. "If you don't talk to me, I'm afraid there will be consequences," she said, her eyes narrowing.

He smiled smugly.

She took a deep breath and let cold rage fill her. Helena was in trouble because of this asshole. Helena might die because of this smug douchewad. "What? You don't believe me? You know Helena? The woman who you've just sent off to God knows where with the power to take over the world?"

His eyes widened slightly.

"Yeah. She just told me she loves me. And I love her. Which means that this is personal, now. You know what we have in the Warehouse, my friend?"

His eyes widened more, and his mouth opened.

"There are things in there that will make you talk, and then pull your tongue out slowly until it rips from your body. There's a chain in there that will break every bone in your body. Believe me when I say that I will use each and every one of them on you until you talk. Hell hath no fury, my friend, as you might have noticed already..."

She pulled out her notebook as he started talking immediately, words falling over one another to get out.

Claudia walked back into the room and watched this odd sight for a couple of minutes -- that dishcloth of a pathetic excuse for a human being was just spilling things left, right and centre to Myka in a way he didn't to Pete (who tried twice as hard), so willingly.

Too willingly. Claudia had witnessed this willingness already today.

Her eyes widened with concern and - quite possibly - horror when a bunch of stuff linked up together in her mind like a set of magnets. HG controlled this man with her mind, with the power of the Bell; HG loved Myka, and told Myka as much (and Claudia knows she needed to get into that with Myka, because there was no way Myka was _not_ explaining what was said in the tiniest of details); Myka loved HG (because - duh) and HG probably knew about it (because Myka, for all her qualities, never mastered the art of subtlety); and now Myka is getting ‘Failed Nefarious’ here to spill the beans like a broken piñata.

... So something about the connection Myka and HG shared allowed Myka to also control the people that Helena controlled.

Could this be?!

She stepped backwards carefully so that she could still watch Myka interrogating (this wasn't really an interrogation, but more like a guided conversation) the asshole. Once she was far enough away she pulled her Farnsworth out and called Artie.

Myka was writing down everything the idiot in front of her was saying - and she thought vaguely that heads were going to roll pretty soon - possibly Regent heads, if this guy was telling the truth. Another part of her mind, however, had noted Claudia's sudden about-face and was listening to the intense whispered conversation the girl was having with Artie. The guys finished his villainous “no one understands me” monologue and Myka closed her notebook, turning to wait for Claudia to finish her less-than-subtle conversation with Artie. By the time Claudia came back, Myka's foot was tapping impatiently.

"Wanna tell me what that was about?" Myka asked. 

"uhhhh..." Claudia stammered, "uh, I was checking in with bossy bear," and blurted out eventually, "you know how tetchy he gets if we don't check in..." she tapered off, looking to see if Myka was buying it, or whether she was about to whammy her into submission.

"...and?" Myka prodded.

"And I was worried that you have some sort of power from the Bell, by extension, because of you and HG, and I thought Artie would know if that was possible, but he doesn't, he doesn't know, please don't hurt me..." she spat out pretty much all at once looking at Myka with fear.

"Claudia," Myka said gently, "I don't know what Helena looked like when she was whammied, but can you answer me this - did she look like this?"

Claudia looked at her with one eye, as if that could turn away the evil somehow.

"Ah... no, not really," Claudia said. "She looked all evil and detached, like she could kill you and not ever think about it again. You look like you're going to kill me, but just like you normally do," Claudia said, "with like your hip out and your eyebrow up and your neck all stretched up like a great big lesbian giraffe..."

"Claudia!" Myka fumed, "I am NOT a lesbian. If anything, I am bisexual. I clearly had a boyfriend for a long time."

"Yeah," Claudia muttered, "and he conveniently 'died' before we could meet him," she said, doing quotation marks over the word 'died'.

"CLAUDIA DONOVAN!" Myka yelled, her temper well and truly gone. That's when she saw Claudia's sly smile.

"Oh, I see. Trying to goad me into a homicidal rage?" Myka asked, more calmly.

"Yeah!" Claudia said gleefully, clapping her hands.

"And if I had been whammied, how do you think that would have gone for you, exactly?" Myka asked coolly. Claudia blanched.

"Okay, maybe I didn't think that through too well," Claudia said. "Anyway, how did you get Sir Stabsalot over there to talk?"

Myka muttered, "I threatened to use artefacts on him."

Claudia stared at her in disbelief. This was a new level of badass for Myka 'by the book' Bering.

 

## * * *

 

In the cab, on their way to a warehouse which location was helpfully divulged by their villain of the day, Myka and Claudia were silent.

Myka was silent because she was exhausted. Yes, she'd been all eidetic memory with the formula, and she’d been all ass-kicky with the idiot on the floor, and she'd been all casual with Claudia, but truth was had used up every bit of energy she had in her, and every bruise she sported was throbbing with pain, and every bone in her body was weak with fatigue. She thought that she could feel her brain aching. Probably because there were holes in her head, or something.

Claudia was silent because a. she still wasn't entirely sure Myka wasn't whammied too. She read somewhere, quite possibly in the manual, that there have been a handful of situations where an artefact bifurcated its effect, splitting its good and bad influences between two people, sort of a Jekyll and Hyde thing.

Then there was b. - they were heading to a warehouse that the ringleader had helpfully given them, without knowing a damn thing. There could be hundreds of goons there. There could be booby traps. There could be a great big ticking bomb for them to walk into. Or, worst of all, there could be a Helena there, with hordes of her newly acquired minions, just waiting to take over the world.

It was game time, so Myka loosened her shoulders and checked that her tesla and service weapon were ready. She knew that she should be in hospital. She felt so shitty that if it was anyone other than Helena involved in this clusterfuck she would have called Artie to get him down here to take over. But this _was_ Helena, and there was literally no-one else alive who could talk her down.

They stepped out of the cab and Myka was adjusting her holster so she didn't see, initially, but then Claudia tapped her on the arm. There were hundreds of people, possibly thousands, possibly unconscious, possibly dead, prone outside this horribly run-down warehouse in the ass-end of nowhere.

"What the..?" she breathed. And that was when they started to stir.

"Uh, I think running might be an idea if we want to get in there without being attacked by the walkers, Mykes," Claudia said, out of the side of her mouth. Myka didn't waste time; she just ran, Claudia following in her wake. By the time they ran in the door, the people nearest them were almost standing up. They were making a weird humming noise and it made the hair on the back of their necks stand on end. They got through the door and Claudia used a conveniently-located piece of wood to bar the door behind them.

"Let's go find lady cuckoo," Myka said, and Claudia fist-bumped her and then blew it up.

They crashed through the front doors of the warehouse, teslas drawn, clearing the foyer as they walk in.

They followed protocol to a tee, covering each other as the cleared the umpteen rooms and cabinets along the longest hallway in the existence of hallways, all along, they approached what looked like The Doors of Doom, a set of massive, shiny metal doors, large enough to fit a semi-trailer through at the very end of it.

"Lady cuckoo?" Claudia whispered incredulously. "Really? I wouldn't have thought that I'd hear that from you."

"From how you described her, she's not the Helena that I..." Myka stopped for a moment to clear another broom closet. "She's not _my_ Helena."

"Mykes... whether she's batshit crazy destroying the world or pretending to be normal and disappearing... she's always your Helena," Claudia said, her eyes on Myka's, sincerity in her every movement.

"Thanks, Claudia," Myka said, and they both counted to three before pushing open the huge metal doors.

Helena was standing with her back to them, a visible aura of glimmering golden energy around her and the Bell, as she stood communing with it.

"Helena?" Myka said softly, gesturing for Claudia to move around and flank them. "It's me, Myka," she added, unnecessarily. She kept her tesla trained on Helena's back.

Helena turned slowly, her head tilted to one side as if listening to something only she could hear. Her eyes were closed.

"Myka?" she whispered, and then her eyes opened. Myka gasped. They were solid, glimmering gold; no iris or sclera visible.

Myka bit the inside of her cheek as she approached Helena slowly, assessing the state of her. Helena looked bigger somehow, broader at her shoulders, a little taller as well. All manners of thoughts as to what the Bell might have done to her insides started racing through her mind and she focused on snippets of Helena she had noticed: the skin that sloped from her neck down to her chest was glistening with a metallic shine, the tendons of her neck taut and rigid. Her jaw was squarely and tightly shut, creating tiny craters in Helena's cheeks and temples, craters that looked deeper with their odd golden hue contrasting natural shading.

From behind Helena, she saw Claudia beginning to set up her gooing mechanism, so it is best she kept Helena focused on her.

She took a step towards Helena, removing her left hand from supporting the hilt of the tesla and reaching it to Helena's Arm.

Helena did not flinch.

"Helena, it's me, Myka," she said, unnecessarily, speaking only to keep Helena's attention on her. Even Helena's skin felt metallic, almost cold. What had the Bell done to her? Myka looked at those golden eyes, noting that Helena was now almost as tall as she was. Her shoulders were definitely broader. The skin on her chest was cracked and metallic-looking, bronze shining through the tiny fissures.

"Myka Bering," Helena said, and this time, it wasn't her voice. It was 'the' voice, the voice of the person who had asked them all the questions earlier, who had ordered his men to almost kill her. Myka had thought that the man they met in the hotel room was the owner of the voice, but now that she thought about it, his voice wasn't the same.

"Who are you?" she asked, quietly, taking a cautious step back. Helena's head swivelled, her golden eyes staring blindly.

"Who I am is of no consequence. What I am going to do is what is relevant, here. Your darling HG Wells is going to finally enact the genocide she so craved, Agent Bering, and you will be her final victim. I will let my control of her waver a little, enough so that she is truly aware of what she is doing, and she will kill you, all the while screaming as she watches you die at her own hand," the voice said, smugly. Myka stepped back a little more.

"Why are you doing this?" Myka asked, her voice trembling a little. She was frightened - for Helena, not for herself.

"Why don't you ask her why she did what she did. Why my brother is a mummy, buried in an unmarked grave in Egypt?" Suddenly the voice sounded young and sad, and Myka remembered the little girl whose brother had been killed discovering Warehouse 2. God.

"We reap what we sow, Agent Bering," the voice said after a moment, and it was back to its previous smooth tone. "We reap what we sow."

Myka felt paralysed. She tried to move a hand, wiggle a toe, twitch a facial muscle - nothing.

Her body ceased responding to her brain's commands.

Then the pain settled in her limbs.

That's what it felt like to lose control, she noted to herself. But this wasn’t losing control while willingly relinquishing it - probably a bit like what happened in Helena's hotel room before all of this turned to shit. This wasn’t even losing control after having fought for it.

This was having something that was so obviously her own whisked away from her without her even noticing, and the only - the only - thing Myka could do is blink, and then blink more, and harder, to push away the tears that were rushing in, obstructing her field of vision and clouding her judgement at once.

Her body, now under the control of another, followed Helena as she walked slowly, stiffly, to the outside of the building. Myka noted that Claudia was marching alongside her as she removed the bar from the doors to the abandoned warehouse and opened them. They were greeted by a thousand people standing, waiting for instructions.

Myka's eyes were filled with tears. She couldn't move of her own volition.  What could she do? She fought, hard, against the binding placed on her by the Bell. Myka Bering had one strength that had carried her through any number of difficult moments. This was just one more. She managed to get control for long enough to spin and fire her tesla at Claudia, who fell to the ground immediately. If nothing else, Claudia might be free of this compulsion when she woke; free enough to try neutralising the artefact. Myka's eyes filled with tears once more as her body was compelled to begin marching alongside Pete and Steve. She knew where they were headed - a super-secret underground bunker nearby that held another copy of the nuclear football – the perfect weapon of mass destruction.

The voice got its revenge for Myka's moment of freedom, making her pause her march in order to punch a nearby wall several times with her bare hand. She distinctly felt bones splinter, but she couldn't cry out or do anything to make it stop. Tears blurred her vision as she continued her forced March.

The single positive upshot of having her body controlled by something else was that she didn't feel the pain of her old injuries. Her hand was sending blinding, shooting pains through her, but her head and jaw and abdomen and legs and back felt just dandy.

She could feel how the Bell was making a bid for her consciousness as well, and she could only think that letting it take over would be such a tremendous relief - not having to be aware. Not having to think.

Because right now, thinking hurt Myka. She was thinking about Pete and Steve and Claudia, and how they didn't deserve to end like this. How they didn't deserve to end their lives as minions, as mindless automatons played by the hands of a madwoman whose unleashing unto the world was Myka’s own doing (or at least that how she felt).

At the same time, Myka's mind and soul were breaking because this wasn't Helena. This artefact hijacked her Helena and turned into this homicidal megalomaniac, turned her to Pete's Lady Cuckoo. She blamed the artefact because from what Helena said earlier, it was clear that Helena would be suffering as much as the rest of them, and this artefact knew Helena. It knew how to play on Helena's trauma and emotions so that her suffering was as intense as possible.

It probably played on Helena's grief as well, found the piece of her soul that will always remain fractured because of Christina, because of Warehouse 12, because of the bronze.

And at the back of her mind, Myka was hatching a plan - it was a very bad plan, granted, but a plan nonetheless: if the Bell released Helena just enough for her to feel grief for Myka, it would open the one place Myka knew how to touch in Helena, the same place that stopped her all those years ago in Yellowstone.

So she hoped that in the few minutes before she was sure her life would be tortured out of her, she could reach Helena for long enough to bring her back to fight the Bell.

They reached the secret bunker where the 'secret' nuclear football was stored. Myka knew, from her link with this... collective, she supposed, that one of them was a guard at this particular facility, which was located here because of the historical significance of the Bell. Something which she supposed made sense, in the great scheme of things. Helena, Myka, Pete and Steve walked through the doors of what looked like a plain office building, leaving the remainder of their people outside to guard. They went to the elevator that, when the right sequence of buttons was pressed, would take them below street level and to the bunker. Helena touched the man operating the elevator and he immediately pressed that sequence and took out the gun that was hidden in his waistband, to guard Helena.

They walked down a concrete corridor guarded by soldiers, all of whom stopped in their incessant questioning and brandishing of weapons as soon as they were touched by any of the group. They soon had a small army surrounding them, escorting them to the room holding the nuclear football. Vitally, for this diabolical plan, they also picked up the two soldiers holding the keys and codes to the football.

When they reached the small room, Myka stood still, trying to concentrate so that she could once again take control against this possession, to somehow try to reach Helena.

The soldiers were busy with their codes and keys and the target was set. Cairo. It made sense, in the great scheme of things. If anywhere in the world had hurt the person responsible for this, it was Cairo - the place where the girl’s older brother had died.

Myka waited for her moment, concentrating hard on fighting the crushing weight of someone else controlling her.

Helena turned her head and looked at Myka, only it wasn't Helena. It was the thing - the collective, the Bell - that was glowing gold and dangerous from where Helena's dark eyes used to be, and it felt to Myka as though the air pressure in the room had drastically increased and she was being squeezed from the outside in.

It took her three and a half seconds to succumb to the intense pain, and it was only then that she cried out in agony.

Only then did Helena, or the thing, rather, flashed a menacing Cheshire Cat grin and turned to face the soldiers with their system primed and keys at the ready. Then all she did was blink and the soldiers turned the keys in their locks.

And then the whole room fell dark.

Dark, but then damp - when the emergency sprinklers came on, and as the tiny droplets landed - especially anywhere around Helena, purple and orange sparks were flying.

And from beyond her pain, from beyond the sensation of having her muscles pressed too tightly into her bones, Myka let out a breath that to the keen listener would have sounded a lot like "Claudia".

The emergency lighting kicked in, and the room was suddenly filled with shouting. Finding her body suddenly hers to command, Myka stood, taking a full, deep breath into her lungs.

She stepped forward, holding up her shield and her other, empty hand, non-threateningly. She managed to persuade the Military Police to call Mrs Frederic before she and Pete, Steve and Helena and some of the Bell's followers were dragged to a cell with armed guards posted outside.

Helena was unconscious, slumped between the two tall MPs dragging her to the cell, and as they placed her (none too carefully) on a bench inside the cell, her arms flopped to her sides ungracefully. Myka went to her noting that her colouring had returned to normal, but she was still unconscious.

 

## * * *

 


	4. The Bell tolls for thee (and me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the questions will be answered. Hopefully.
> 
> (post note - we also hope that this will be a bit of a distraction from everything that's been going on. With love, KB and SS.)

Of all the times Pete, Steve and Myka had waited in cells for Mrs. Frederic to come and bail them out, this was quite possibly the longest. Every time one of the other followers asked a question, the three simply looked at the ground and kept quiet, not wanting to give away anything, not even the fact that they know each other.

Pete was the first to break the charade, when he leaned into Myka who sat next to him and whispered in her ear "What's taking so frakkin’ long?"

But Myka, who's mind was somewhere else entirely (not in this cell, not with her team, not even with Helena, even though she cradled her head in her lap), just shrugged wearily and sighed.

The cell door opened some time later; Myka had long since spaced out completely - her mind untethered, her body reeling with pain - her way of dealing with the roller coaster of emotions this day had become.

"You four," the guard said, pointing at them. "Time to go."

He glared at them as they manoeuvred Helena's lifeless body between them, shuffling her out of the cell with great care. Clearly the military police weren't happy that they were being released. Myka was too tired to care.

She put her earpiece in straightaway, automatically when it was returned with her weapons and badge. The guy behind the desk stared at her tesla curiously but she just gave him a wan smile.

"Mykes?"a voice in her ear said. It was Claudia.

"Yeah, I'm here Claud," she said wearily.

"Sorry for the delay. We were gooing the Bell; had to be done before we got y'all free. Is HG okay?"

"She's unconscious," Myka said, joining the guys who were holding Helena between them.

"Okay. We'll pick you up outside and get you back to the Warehouse, lickety-split," Claudia said.

She was true to her word; they were in a military transport helicopter within 30 minutes. The journey to the Warehouse took a while - it always did - but at least they were in their way home.

 

 

## * * *

 

Helena opened her eyes and out of instinct tried to stretch. She couldn't. It felt like her hands were bound at the wrists. So, with the same instinct, she tried to sit up to see what was going on, but she couldn't. Her chest appeared to have been strapped as well. She tried to look around her, with what little movement she had, determining that she was in her old room at the B&B.

She took a slow breath in and tried to move her head a bit further, to check if there was anyone in the room with her, but she couldn't move at all.

"Rise and shine, HG or the Evil Lord of the Bell," Claudia's voice rang from across the room. "With whom do we have an audience today?" her voice was suspicious, maybe even menacing, and that's all Helena had to go on, because the words Claudia was saying didn't make a lot of sense to her.

She tried desperately to remember what had happened, to have only come up with nothing.

Not exactly nothing, but images, glimpses of things - of Myka being crushed in front of her in an underground room, of Myka on a TV screen being tortured, of Myka in her hotel room half naked.

None of it made any sense.

"Claudia..." she said, or tried to say. It came out as a croak. She cleared her throat and tried again. "Claudia. How did I get here? I was in my hotel, and I remember speaking with Myka and that's all."

Her mouth was filled with the taste of rust. She turned her head a little, hearing some movement, and Claudia stepped into her line of sight.

"So, you're, like, actually you? HG Wells, crazy time-travelling genius?"

Helena raised her eyebrows.

"I suspect I'm going to regret asking this question, but here it is: who else would I be?"

Claudia eyed her on-again/off-again idol questioningly. From everything they knew about artefacts like the Bell, memory loss was not uncommon. Hell, it was probably a blessing.

But according to Myka's version of events, Helena was supposed to still be Helena until after they were tortured in the riverside warehouse, and Helena is saying that she can't remember stuff from before.

"I don't buy it," Claudia said, matter of fact. "I think you remember more," the young agent crossed her arms decisively. "Walk me through everything that happened from the moment you landed in Philly."

"I...," Helena began, closing her eyes. "I don't remember much, Claudia. And some of it can't be true. Surely."

Claudia shrugged. "Let's hear it, anyway." Her eyes were hard.

Helena sighed. "Fine. I remember checking in to my hotel. I had a lead on the Bell, which I had intended to contact Artie about. I was... cautious about approaching such an artefact alone, without backup."

Claudia raised one eyebrow sceptically.

"After that, it's all a blur. I see only images. Of Myka, injured and being hurt. On a screen, and being crushed on the floor of some underground room. And..." she hesitated.

"And what, Helena?" Claudia asked. The snap of command was clear in her voice.

"And... Myka and I. In a... sexual encounter. I can't remember it properly; it's just images. It can't be true, can it?" she asked, and her tone was pleading. Whether it was pleading for Claudia to confirm or deny what she remembered, Helena couldn't say.

This was why Claudia hated interrogating people. This was also why she thought she was bad at it. Because the minute HG's eyes turned soft and weepy and were _really_ HG's eyes (and not the weird Bell eyes she had before), all she wanted to do was help her friend, to give her a squeeze of reassurance. But HG was not her friend yet. She wasn’t sure of it. She needed to ask more questions. That's what Myka would do, she convinced herself.  "Why can't it be true, HG?" she asked after clearing her throat, because - really – she wasn’t sure she'd like the answer.

Helena slumped on the bed and sighed deeply. She wanted to reach for her locket, as if she was asking her heart why it couldn’t be true, that her and Myka would finally... But her arms were still bound. "Because I've loved her for so long, I had lost any hope of her returning the sentiment," she whispered meekly.

Claudia swallowed the lump in her throat and bit on the inside of her cheek to keep her tears at bay, because, ohmigod, she could kinda see how Myka and HG will be riding into the sunset together and that would be *so* awesome. "Since when?" Claudia asked, some out of curiosity, but mostly out of the need to verify how much HG this person really was.

"Honestly?" Helena mulled the question over.

Claudia hummed silently with a nod even though HG’s statement was rhetorical.

"Since the second time I saw her, pointing that gun at me," Helena remembered with a soft smile. "Those piercing eyes of hers... Those strong arms..." she added dreamily.

"So why didn't you do anything about it back then? It was painfully obvious she was all hot for you as well."

Helena turned her head and looked at Claudia mischievously. "The reason is something I do not wish anyone to know about me, dear Claudia," she said. "Can I trust you with it, darling?"

Claudia shifted uncomfortably, because it felt like she was being manipulated a little bit, which meant there could still be some of the Bell in HG, or, on second thought, it could just be HG. Helena was no stranger to manipulation. "Sure," she answered and refrained from adding a quip about taking it with her to her grave, because she didn't feel confident enough that she won't be winding up there soonish, with this Bell crap still not settled.

"I am a romantic," Helena whispered.

Claudia quirked a brow.

Helena’s eyes were clear, their irises brown and warm and glistening as she testified, "I would not have marred the sincerity of my feelings for her with what might have been seen as part of my ploy," she explained.

Claudia's questioning expression remained.

"I did not want to appear to be taking advantage," Helena simplified.

"What with the Warehouse 2 expedition and the trident and all..." Claudia started and tapered off, Helena nodding in front of her, as best she could. Claudia wanted to know more, wanted to share with HG what Myka had gone through. How broken she had become after that ordeal. How difficult all that was for her.

Instead, she chose to focus on what HG just shared with her. "So under all the Victorian genius, suave facade and hardcore steampunk kickassery you're a squishy cuddly toy?" she tried to sound incredulous, taking her interrogation up a level.

"Does it really surprise you that much, Claudia? To know that I have real feelings?" Helena asked, and her voice was small, as if she was genuinely hurt.

"Goddammit, HG," Claudia said under her breath. "Right in the feels."

They shared a silence for a moment, both considering whether it really was _that_ difficult to consider that Helena G Wells, time travelling extraordinaire, agent of intrigue and deception, genius mother of science fiction was - really - marshmallow on the inside.

"All right, Lady Cuckoo," Claudia said, undoing Helena's bonds and holding her breath for a second, wondering if this was going to be a giant, metal-evil releasing kind of mistake. To her relief, however, Helena just sat up slowly and rubbed her eyes.

"Thank you, Claudia," she said, quietly. "Might I ask what actually happened, now?"

Claudia gave Helena a brief timeline of what had happened, rather factually and to the point.

“And before? What happened with Myka?”

The young agent backed up a little, holding her hands up.

"I think that's for Myka to explain. Sounds like you guys have plenty to talk about," Claudia said. Helena nodded, her face pale and drawn.

So a few minutes later, Helena found herself standing in front of Myka's bedroom door, trying to muster the courage to knock.

She must have stood there for a while because she heard Claudia's footsteps behind her with a quiet grumble. "Do I have to do everything for you?" the redhead muttered, and lifted her fist to knock on the door. And before anyone could say anything inappropriate, Claudia raised her other palm up and said, "Don't even think it," as her knuckles rapped the wooden door lightly, twice.

The door opened quickly, as if the woman inside had been waiting for her knock. Perhaps she had.

"Helena..." Myka breathed, stepping back and drawing Helena into the room. The door closed swiftly behind Helena, leaving a frustrated and curious Claudia outside muttering ‘You’re welcome’ to herself. Neither woman noticed, however.

"How are you feeling?" Myka asked, and Helena stared at her hesitantly.

"How am I feeling? I'm not the one with, as Claudia described it, a 'serious, like totally life-threatening head injury' to cope with. How are you feeling, Myka? Do you need to go back to hospital?"

Myka smiled weakly.

"I'm fine, Helena. Dr Calder checked me over."

Helena nodded at that, her eyes never leaving Myka's.

"I... I don't remember exactly, but... did something happen, between you and I?" Helena asked awkwardly.

Myka looked down, then smiled coyly, then blushed then looked back up at Helena while biting her lips shut.

Helena could feel Myka's unease and took a step away from the curly haired agent and sat on the edge Myka's reading chair.

"Not my finest moment," Myka admitted quietly, almost inaudibly, looking towards Helena intermittently, trying to read her responses, her mood.

"Well, even if it weren't, which I highly doubt, you've been granted a reprieve, Myka," Helena broke the silence. "I cannot recall what had actually happened."

Myka took a deep breath. "You don't remember anything?" she said, and she sounded distraught.

"It appears, from what little Claudia said, that the artefact took most of my memories," Helena apologised and got up from the chair, took a hesitant step towards Myka.

"Damn," Myka said. "I guess we should talk, then. About what happened."

Helena stepped closer to her tentatively.

"Or we could... not talk," she said, grasping Myka's wrist gently.

Myka tensed feeling the warmth of Helena's fingers as they slid across her skin.

Helena took another step closer, her eyes smouldering, her mind full of images of Myka in her arms, on top of her, underneath her. Something obviously happened, and being so close to the tall woman now felt familiar, like they'd done this already, that Helena could simply not stop herself. "I've missed you so," she whispered, and reached her hand to where Myka's waist met her thigh.

Myka bit her bottom lip hard, released a nervous laugh and looked away.

"What is it?" Helena asked, resisting the urge to turn Myka back towards her, because touching her face would lead to nothing but kissing.

But she didn't need to. Myka looked back into Helena's eyes. "That's how it started before," she said, matter of fact, and leaned in to place her lips on Helena's.

It didn't feel like a first kiss. Because it wasn't, Helena supposed, somewhere far back in the part of her brain that was still working. Myka's lips were gentle but insistent, and they were both pulling at each other's bodies, trying to get closer.

Helena felt Myka's hand slide up into her hair, grasping a fistful roughly and almost making Helena's knees give way. "Good God," she whispered, before having her breath stolen away by Myka's relentless mouth.

Myka, who somewhere in the back of her logical brain knew that this was fast becoming another compromising moment with Helena, could not bring her body to obey logic or social decorum or even plain politeness to pause for a moment and tell Helena something.

Anything, in fact.

Even tell Helena that she loved her.

Instead, she detached her lips from Helena's and re-attached them to the ridge of her jaw, where she kissed and nipped and sucked her way to the hollow of Helena's neck.

"Is this..." Helena's question was cut short as she gasped for air, when Myka's teeth grazed her skin, at the base of her neck. "Is this how in continued before?" she managed to ask between Myka's assaults on her senses.

She felt Myka shake her head against her shoulder.

"Before it continued by you taking my shirt off," she mumbled into skin turned red and sensitive.

Helena moaned at the new sensation of Myka's tongue tickling the side of her neck, to her ear. Knowing what Myka would be doing next, she mustered what little power she had in her to resist and pushed Myka away from her. "No reason to diverge from tried and tested scenarios," she hissed and ripped Myka's shirt open.

Myka suddenly stopped, and Helena froze. Had she gone too far?

"It occurs to me that it was just about this point last time that Pete burst in on us," Myka said conversationally. She stepped away from Helena and over to the door before locking it firmly and wedging a chair under the handle for good measure.

"Okay, " she said breathlessly, turning back to Helena with a wide grin and shining eyes. Helena stared at her for a moment in awe. Myka Bering, shirtless, breathless and smiling, was standing in front of her.

Myka paced back towards Helena, holding the time traveller's gaze with her own. She stopped when they were a handful of inches apart and smiled coyly. The agent reached questing fingers and ran them gently, idly through dark tresses. "I missed you too," she said.

Helena's own fingers were tingling. It was as if Myka's exposed abdomen was a magnet and her fingertips were made of metal and the pull between them was naturally irresistible. She could only hold back for so long before her fingers reached for soft, white skin, tracing the edges of Myka's bottom ribs.

Myka gasped.

"I cannot tell you how long it has been since I wished I could touch you like this," Helena mused as her fingers and palms skidded across Myka's sides.

"Then don't," Myka said and took a step forward, into Helena, and claimed her breath with another searing kiss.

Myka's hands were in Helena's hair and Helena's mouth was open and hot against hers. It felt like a dream, and she was tempted to pinch herself to make sure Helena was real.

Her hair was like cool silk between Myka's fingers. Myka felt Helena's hand on her bare back and it made every inch of her body tingle. She wrenched her hands away from Helena reluctantly and started undoing the buttons on Helena's shirt, suddenly frantic to have her skin against Helena's. Her fingers were clumsy and shaking, and Helena pulled away from her, chuckling.

"Can I help you with that, darling?" Helena murmured, her fingers tracing Myka's jaw fondly. Myka smiled at her and, instead of answering, grasped Helena's shirt and ripped it open, as Helena had done with hers.

"Nope. I think I've got it," she said smugly, and pulled Helena back to her, her mouth coming down on Helena's, hard and bruising.

The stood in the middle of the room kissing and touching and exploring (as much as they could standing up). Myka couldn't help the small, evil smirk that her lips stretched into when she found that the ridge of Helena's ear was a particularly sensitive spot that made Helena weak at the knees - literally.

So when Helena found the many different ways in which she could bite into Myka's lower lip that made the agent weak in _her_ knees, Helena’s was more than a smirk. There was a positively devilish laugh emanating deep from the throat of the time traveller.

Very quickly this had turned into a battle, a competition of sorts - how many spots they could find on each other's bodies that elicited involuntary jolts and bucks and thrusts. This went on until Helena couldn't wait any longer to taste Myka's skin, and pushed her backwards, toward the bed, only to have Myka leverage Helena's concentration and reverse their positions just before they fell on top of the soft covers.

"You cheated," Helena said, and Myka chortled, her mouth against Helena's neck.

"All's fair," was all she said, before kissing Helena, wet, open-mouthed and deep. Helena heard herself whimper as Myka's hand ran down her chest lightly, just brushing, just off-centre. Just infuriating. Helena took a second to plan her movements before flipping them over again, Myka trapped underneath her, her hands captured by one of Helena's, the other exploring her chest and belly in the same teasing fashion Myka had subjected her to.

After a moment Myka groaned deep in her chest.

"Please," she breathed, opening her eyes to implore Helena to stop teasing. A shiver ran through Helena's body at the sight of Myka so utterly ruined beneath her. She hadn't expected this when she woke up today, when she came to speak to Myka - to be honest she had feared that the images she had remembered were due to the artefact, that she had somehow forced herself on Myka. To find out that she was so wrong, and in such a delightful way, was a shock. She let Myka's hands free and Myka grabbed her hair, pulling Helena's head down to kiss her until she was so dizzy she could barely think.

Helena's mind and body were racing with thoughts and sensations, familiar and new, terrifying and exhilarating. Being with Myka like this was flooding her senses and neurological pathways and every iota of thought capacity, and when Myka's hand slid down the small of her back and her fingers slipped between the waist band of her trousers and her skin, rounding the slope of her thigh on a journey clearly destined southwards, it was all too much for her, and Helena pushed herself up and away from Myka.

Myka's body couldn't fathom Helena's being torn away from it so violently and she gasped loudly. It took her a second to come to, and she tried to push herself up to her elbows, to get closer, to check on Helena.

But Helena wouldn't let her.

Helena laid her palm flat on Myka's sternum and pushed her instantly back down.

"What's goin--" Myka started and Helena hushed her with the index finger of her other hand across her lips.

Unsure of Helena's plans or state of mind, Myka resisted for a few seconds, until Helena rose to her knees and leaned above her to replace her index finger with her lips.

Myka fell to her back with a light huff that turned to a sharp intake of air soon after, when Helena replaced her other hand, between Myka’s breasts, with her hungry, wet mouth.

The longer Helena's lips roamed her chest, the heavier Myka's breathing had become. And the further her tongue ventured, caressing the swell of Myka's breast, the louder and more nonsensical Myka was with her exclamations.

This is what Helena needed: a way to focus her mind and her senses, because for all the passionate chaos of a moment ago she felt a little fragile right now, and would rather spend the next few moments ruining Myka even further, before succumbing to her own fragility and allowing Myka to ruin her.

It didn't take much longer for them to strip one another of their last items of clothing. Helena bit her lip, hard, when she had her first look at Myka, bare and spread out beneath her, hair in disarray, eyes dark and heavy-lidded. She was a breath-taking sight, and Helena watched her silently for a long moment, her fingers tracing Myka's jaw and then her lips. Until Myka pulled one of Helena's fingers into her mouth, sucking on it as she stared at Helena challengingly. Suddenly it wasn't enough to just look. She fell on Myka and for the first time felt her entire body against her own, an incredible sensation. They kissed and it grew messy and hungry and then Myka's hand was descending, passing Helena's navel and she was whispering in Helena's ear.

"Tell me how to make love to you."

Helena almost whimpered. She grasped Myka's hand and directed it downward, thinking, inanely, that a good writer shows, they don't tell, and then she wasn't thinking anything at all because Myka was inside her and there was no more room for thought.

 

## * * *

 

Hours later they lay in each other's arms catching their breath and their sleep intermittently, each being awakened by the other's touch over, upon or inside. It was as though all the almosts and all the not-quites and just-abouts of their past had all clumped together to form one mass of conciliation.

And neither of them was complaining.

In fact, neither of them spoke.

They traded kisses and nips and bites, they traded caresses and touches and orgasms; but not a single word passed between them for many, many hours.

It was Helena who broke the verbal embargo.

"I hate to break the silence, darling, because I have never enjoyed the quiet so much in all of my years on this earth. But I have to ask... what does this mean?"

Myka looked at her in confusion. "What does what mean?"

"This," Helena said, gesturing between them. "Us."

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Myka confessed, after a moment.

"I've been away for a long time, but I think - if the Regents will allow it, of course - I'm ready to come home," Helena said quietly.

"You would come back to the Warehouse?" Myka asked incredulously. "Wait... You're not doing that for me, are you? Because I would never want you to be unhappy, Helena. We could do long-distance or..."

Helena put a finger firmly over Myka's lips with a smile.

"It was the Bell, actually. Finding that scrap of parchment that led me to the shard. Despite the rather unfortunate end to my retrieval, I felt... I was myself again. And seeing you... it was just the icing on the cake, as they say. Knowing that you feel the same, it has confirmed that I'm making the right decision. Unless you don't want me to come back?"

Myka was listening to Helena's words intently. A part of her was struggling to believe that Helena had any part of her that was unsure that Myka wanted her. This particular thought was so baffling to her that she had to remind herself to answer her new lover.

She propped herself on her elbow and turned to face the dark haired mystery of a woman she thought she knew so well, but who evidently could still surprise her.

"Do you honestly think I wouldn't want you to come back?" she asked with mild disbelief.

"Darling, it's been a long time," Helena tried to explain that she wanted nothing more than to make up for all the time she'd lost with Myka, but not if it risked Myka's happiness; and Myka had so much happiness in her work. Only she didn't say that in so many words.

"It has," Myka echoed with a firm nod, "but this time changed us," she added and leaned down so her arm fell light across Helena's naked torso, and she dragged her fingers idly up Helena's side.

Helena released a broken breath and let her eyes fall shut, let her body decipher the patterns Myka was imprinting on her.

"It changed me," Myka whispered as she brought her lips to the corner of Helena's and pressed light, butterfly kisses there. “I know what I want now.”

"In that case, I believe the talking is finished with, for the time being," Helena murmured. Myka nodded, her face an inch from Helena's. They looked at one another for a long moment, just looking, before Myka leaned forward that little bit more to allow their lips to meet. It was in that moment that Helena realised that her time travel, her mistakes, her past - they were all irrelevant, here. Time itself was irrelevant only because they might not have enough of it. Such was the life of a Warehouse Agent. They were liable to be called up at a moment's notice to fly to the other side of the world to collect the ring of a monarch or the ring pull from a can of soda. Helena took a second to thank the gods or whomever was responsible for this time with Myka before she turned her mind completely to the body, the soul beneath her. It may have taken her a few years too many to arrive here, but she had arrived, now.

And she was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. We hope you enjoyed the ride! We certainly did writing it.


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